The Right Thing
by AmethystWren
Summary: One-shot. "He's not sure why he offered to do this... Maybe it's because he knows for a fact that no-one else will; nobody else cares." Ralph gives himself the job of finding Piggy's aunt and explaining to her just why her nephew will not be coming home again.


**This one is somewhat shorter than my Percival-centric one-shot, but I just _had_ to do this idea. It jumped on me earlier and has been pestering me ever since :D**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Flies, or Ralph, or Piggy, or anybody else mentioned here you recognise from it. Nor do I own any of the parts of the story that are referenced in this.**

* * *

He's not sure why he offered to do this. He knows it's the right thing, but he's done plenty of things that _weren't_ throughout his twelve years of life. Maybe it's because he knows for a fact that nobody else will; nobody else cares. Simon might've done, but he's… He's somewhere better, with Piggy, and Mummy.

One of the adults that the officer had taken the boys to once they'd landed back on English soil had offered to handle the matter, but Ralph had insisted otherwise. Again, he's not sure why; and, again, he tells himself that it's because it's the right thing to do. Perhaps it's his way of subconsciously assuring himself that he can be the boy he was before the island, before every part of his personality became so very confusing.

Squeezing the brakes on his handlebars, Ralph eases his bike to a stop outside a sweetshop in a street somewhat quiet for a Saturday afternoon. Clambering off of it, he rests it against the brick wall and moves towards the door. His hand lingers slightly on the brass handle before he can pluck up the courage to turn it, to push the door open and enter the building.

There's a bell that tinkles at he walks inside, shutting the door behind him as quietly as he can. The wooden floor has an almost hollow sound to it as he inches towards the counter, behind which resides shelf upon shelf of every sweet he has ever tried, and many more besides. The air smells of sherbet, of strawberry, and of a great many other sugary substances that Ralph can't quite trace.

Between shelves and counter surface, there stands a woman. She's a little overweight, with greying brown hair tied back in a messy, quick bun. Looking up from where she traces circles into the wood of the counter, her brown eyes meet the blue of Ralph's and she smiles in a friendly, though somewhat absent-minded, way as she wipes her hands down the apron tied over her faded red dress.

"Hello, young man," She greets him, "What can I do for you?"

Ralph swallows. For someone who's been through so much, this woman- this completely safe, civilised woman- is frightening him more than he can put into words.

"Don't be shy." She encourages. "Come on, I won't bite."

Even so, Ralph's feet stop moving a few metres away from the counter, instead of just before it. The shop is empty save for the two of them. He can't yet tell if that's a blessing or a curse. Maybe it's both.

"I'm here about Pi-" He stops himself before his lips can fully utter the nickname his friend so detested, "Your nephew." The woman's smile wavers. "This _is_ the right place, isn't it? The officer gave me the address, but I couldn't be sure because I don't live around here, and I…" He's rambling, and he knows it, but he just can't seem to stop.

Eventually, he does. It's as he struggles to recover the breath lost due to his near constant stream of words that Ralph realises he's hardly told the poor woman anything.

"He's not coming home." The words sting, but he forces them out. "He…" Ralph raises a hand to wipe a watery eye. He will not cry, not in front of Piggy's aunt. "He died."

When she replies, her voice is quiet, nothing like that of the cheerful woman who'd greeted Ralph as he entered her sweet shop mere minutes before. "Was it his asthma?"

Ralph shakes his head. "No," He wipes at his eye again. "It was a rock."

"A… A rock?"

This time, he nods. "Yes."

She asks no more questions, for which Ralph is thankful. However, such lightness can only last a mere few seconds. All too soon, Piggy's aunt has her head resting on the counter, her shoulders racking with sobs.

Ralph wipes at his own eyes once again before reaching into his trouser pocket. His fingers navigate around the elastic band and the two pence coin, latching onto a mangled tissue. Pulling it free, he takes a tentative few steps up to the counter and places it beside the sobbing woman.

"I'm sorry." He apologises.

She lifts her head. And though the tissue may be mangled and old and used, she reaches out a hand to take it, squeezing it as though it's her anchor, the only thing keeping her rooted in this reality.

"He was the cleverest person I know, I think," Ralph informs her, hoping that telling her good things about her nephew might perhaps put her mind a little more at ease. She'll never heal completely, and Ralph knows that better than most his age ever could, but perhaps he can relieve the pain a little.

Piggy's aunt nods and forces a smile, though her brown eyes still shed tears, running down her cheeks like raindrops on windows.

"And, and," Ralph swallows back his own sob, raises a hand to rub against his eyes once again, "And I think he might've been the best friend I've ever had, too."

Again, Piggy's aunt nods and sniffles. Ralph shuffles his feet awkwardly, glancing at the shop's door.

"I need to go." He tells her. "My daddy will be wondering where I am."

She nods. "Of course." She chokes out.

Ralph smiles his goodbye at her weakly and turns to creep across the seemingly hollow floor once again. His hand wraps around the cool brass of the door knob, but makes no move to turn it. Instead, he finds himself glancing over his shoulder, offering the tearful woman one last smile.

And then he forces the door open, lifts one leg to step out onto the street.

"I'm glad." Someone chokes out from behind him.

Ralph's hand lingers on the door's frame, holding it open, whilst he turns his head to stare at the woman behind the counter. Glad? Glad for what?

"Not that he's… He's gone, of course." She clarifies, dabbing at the corner of her eye with Ralph's tissue. "That he had a friend before he did. You seem like such a wonderful boy," She looks at him pointedly.

"Ralph," He fills in.

She nods once, as though forcing the information to sink in. "Ralph," She repeats to herself, trying her best to smile at him as brightly as she had upon his first entry. "Thank you for being there for him, Ralph. He hardly had any friends here, I don't think."

"You're welcome." Ralph replies automatically, though the words taste bitter in his mouth. Was he ever there for Piggy? If he was there, surely Piggy would never have died. Ralph doesn't voice this thought.

Instead he offers a weak smile and walks out of the shop, lifting his hand from the frame and allowing it to slam shut behind him. He climbs onto his bike somewhat clumsier than before, starts to pedal in the direction of home.

He'd forgotten how hard it was to ride a bike when he was crying. He'd last done so when he was eight, and grazed his knee, meaning that he had to cycle home in order to get a plaster. Goodness, had it hurt! Even so, he decides he'd rather endure that pain a thousand times over if it meant his best friend was still by his side.


End file.
